Disclaimer – I don't own Harry Potter. Got it? Do Not Own him. Truth be told, if I could own any character from the books, it wouldn't be him – it would be Dobby. I mean, seriously, someone who will clean my house, get me food, watch my back, and tell me how great I am while he does it all? If I could, I would marry Dobby.
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Chapter 25. Third Time's a Charm
well, not really a charm, I mean, it's not a spell or anything like that. So I guess it's really just the third time, but Third Time didn't sound like a catchy chapter title.
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"Welcome to another year at Hogwarts. For those of you new to our family, I am Professor McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress, Head of Gryffindor House, and Transfiguration Professor. And for all, Professor Dumbledore asked me to read this brief message." With little of the fanfare that Albus would have added, she picked up a scroll and unrolled it. Clearing her throat, she read,
"Welcome to another year at Hogwarts. My most humble apologies for not being able to attend tonight's feast, but rest assured I am fine. As a special treat to apologize for my absence, I have asked the house-elves to send up bowls of my favorite mint chocolate cockroach cluster ice cream in lieu of soup. So grab your spoons and dig in."
His message left a sour look on McGonagall's face, but no one noticed because as soon as the magic words had been spoken, platters of food and individual bowls of ice cream appeared on the tables, and the students did as told and dug in. Between bites, Harry could hear his fellow students wildly speculating on Albus' whereabouts. Someone a few seats down guessed that he got his beard caught in something; Lavender was telling Dean that she was certain he'd fallen off one of the moving stair cases; but the best theory could be heard from across the hall, where Luna was telling her friends that there was nothing wrong with the Headmaster. He'd obviously realized it was European Bushy-tailed Cabbit mating season, and he was observing their group mating dance in the Forbidden Forest. Apparently, it was a show like no other.
When tummies were full and ice cream was melted and the tables were cleared, Minerva stood for the start of term announcements. "First, our annual reminder from Mister Filch. I shall not bore you with a reading of the official list of forbidden items and places - your prefects can answer any questions you have - although I truthfully would expect that you are all old enough to understand that if it has the word 'forbidden' right in its name, it's a pretty safe guess that it is, in fact, forbidden."
A few other boring announcements followed which Harry paid no attention to whatsoever; at least not until it was time introduce the new Defense teacher. Looking down the table, he caught sight of Mrs. Lupin fidgeting with her water goblet. Gone were the vibrantly colored hair, carefree smile, and comfortable Muggle clothes. The woman sitting at the Head table had long, wavy black hair pulled away from her face, a pleasant but still professional look to her face, and simple scarlet robes over a ruffled white blouse.
Harry was struck with the thought that she looked like her mother, and judging by Hermione's look of recognition, she saw it too. But before either could say anything, McGonagall had announced her as Professor Lupin, sparking interest throughout the hall. Apparently, many of the older students remembered the first Professor Lupin.
Tonks, as Harry still thought of her, stood and gave a friendly wave before Minerva continued. "I am sorry to inform you that Hogsmeade trips are cancelled for all underage students, and those of age are strongly urged to refrain from going as well. In their stead, we have arranged for shopkeepers to bring their goods to us. Beginning in October, we will host an open market in old Greenhouse Five on the first Saturday of every month. As this is a substitute for Hogsmeade trips, only those who would normally be allowed in Hogsmeade, that is to say, Third Years and above with signed permission slips, will be allowed. Further details will be posted in your common rooms closer to the first date."
Before anyone could ask, Harry shook his head to indicate that he hadn't known about this. He supposed it was a good idea, what with Death Eater's getting bolder. Or should he say, Voldemort getting more desperate? Before he could get too carried away in his thoughts, he heard Minerva explaining about the Yule Ball, and he winked at his girlfriend. Next to him, Ron appeared to be trying to memorize the pattern in the wood grain, if his unwavering stare at it was any indication.
With one final reminder to get a good night's rest before classes started in the morning, Minerva released the students to their common rooms. Harry was one of the first to jump from his seat, telling his friends he'd meet them later before dashing out of the hall. He made it as far as the gargoyle, and was just about to give his personal password when it sprung open to reveal Bill Weasley. If he was surprised to see Harry, he certainly didn't show it.
"He's awake," Bill said in lieu of a greeting, "and expecting you, I'm sure. I just came by to see that he's recovering well, and to let him know that I took care of the you-know-what."
"The what?"
"The you-know-what," Bill explained with a grin.
"Oh. Good. And how did you take care of the … ah … you-know-what?"
"Well, I put it back in the place. I mean, that's where it came from, so it only made sense to put it back there."
"So … you put the you-know-what back in the place where it came from?" Harry questioned.
"Yeah. That's not a problem, is it? I mean, Albus seemed to think it was a good idea."
"Oh, well if he thinks it's a good idea, I'm sure it is," Harry responded, trying to sound confident, and adding, "He's usually right about these things, you know."
"It's funny, in a way," Bill continued, "that we went to all that trouble for a fake. I don't know how well you looked at it, but in the light of day, it was so obvious it wasn't the right thing." He heavily stressed the word 'thing', no doubt being vigilant lest they be overheard. "It was way too plain to be some special thing. Heck, that ugly old one back at your place looks more like a thing than it did."
"The ugly what?" Harry asked, his face perfectly imitating Goyle's any time a professor called on him.
"Harry … you don't have the slightest idea what I'm talking about, do you?"
"Er, yeah … kinda. I mean …" he looked around to be certain they were alone, and then caste a quick Muffliato just for added measure before continuing, "I think, I mean, you must be talking about that locket, right?"
"Yeah Harry," Bill chucked, "that's what I mean. Glad you were able to keep up."
Ignoring the wise crack, he asked, "But why would you bother to put it back?"
"Because we don't want You-Know-Who to get suspicious and know that we're looking for it. We really shouldn't have taken it out of the cave without replacing it with a decoy in the first place. I mean, we left traces of ourselves all over that place. Now I know that there's a whole lot more going on than just retrieving Hogwarts relics – don't bother, I don't need to know – so I figured we'd better cover ourselves. So I returned and put it back in its place, and then I cleaned the area. Cleaning is something we do in the old tombs … they can get cranky if they feel disturbed."
Before Harry could ask, Bill assured him that he'd been very careful, and that he was certain that even You-Know-Who himself wouldn't know they'd been there. He bid Harry goodnight, explaining he had a pregnant wife that was expecting peach ice cream, and left. Harry continued his way up to the private chambers, finding Albus in pretty much the same place he'd left him this morning, but with a healthier color to his skin.
They visited for maybe an hour before Minerva arrived. This time, instead of chasing Harry out, she pulled up a chair and joined in their talk. Albus was quite excited to hear about the welcoming feast and his new students, and was particularly interested in which foods had been served. Off to the side, Harry noticed a dinner tray consisting of a mostly full bowl of plain porridge with toast and jam, and very weak tea. Unappetizing indeed.
As the night drew late, Albus grew quieter until finally he'd fallen asleep, and Harry watched as Minerva drew the covers up tight, carefully tucking them under his beard. She escorted Harry into the Head's office, where she drew him close. "He'll be fine, Harry," she assured the worried boy. "A trustworthy healer from St. Mungo's examined him earlier today, and whatever Severus did for him seems to have done the trick. Whatever that curse was, it did quite enough damage before being stopped. He's on bed rest for a week – not that I expect we can actually keep him there – and he'll be generally slow for a while after that, but there should be no lasting damage."
Harry thanked her for the information and turned to leave, when she spoke again. "I remember when I was learning the Animagus Transformation. My teacher had gone over it step by step, multiple times, until we were both confident I could do it. We worked together for weeks until finally I was ready. With him standing guard, I transformed for the first time. And it was amazing. At least, for the first twenty minutes or so. That's about when I realized that I hadn't a clue how to transform back. It took my teacher over an hour to figure out that I wasn't trying to play with his robes, I was trying to get his attention."
"You don't mean …"
"I most certainly do. Albus Dumbledore, for all his wisdom and greatness, forgot to teach me how to return to my human form. My point, Harry, is that everyone makes mistakes. Learn from it, be thankful there was no lasting damage, and move on. You can't let this cause you to second guess your every move or every instinct. If Albus had, I dare say we'd have been short one leader these past many years."
"Thanks Professor … I'll keep that in mind." With a small nod, he started moving, before turning back and adding, "especially if he offers to teach me to be an Animagus."
-000-
Harry spent much of that first week of school in a rush. It seemed to him that all his classes picked up right where they'd left off the previous year, and homework was already mounting.
Transfiguration and Charms – subjects he'd been near the top of last year – each started with nasty quizzes to refresh their memories and warm up their wands. He'd been caught off guard but he was certain he'd done fine on each.
Often considered the two most useful NEWTs, the two classes were the most popular, and Harry's year was no exception. Each class had around 25 students, so he'd been quite surprised when Hermione had pointed out that several students had either dropped or been booted from each class over the summer.
"Only about one third of the students that start Hogwarts each year will finish with five or more NEWTs," she'd explained, "which you should know. It's in the appendix of Hogwarts: A History, which I know you've read."
"But not the boring parts," he'd countered. It was a strange statistic; if you're here anyway, why not take a full course load? But thinking back, he could remember that many of the job pamphlets required more OWLs than NEWTs. Even Dean Thomas, who Harry had always thought of as mostly-studious, was only working on three NEWTs – Defense, Herbology and Arithmancy. He'd dropped Charms this year so he could fit in a correspondence course in The Art of Magical Art, which had its own Charms component.
Unfortunately, two faces he'd have rather not seen were still in both classes. Michael Corner, the berk Ginny had dated back when she'd been young and foolish, liked to tell off-color jokes involving stupid men saying or doing stupid things, and for some reason the guy in the jokes was always named Harry. Far worse was Theodore Nott, whose eyes tended to follow Harry around the classroom. When caught, he'd often smile and wink before turning away. Harry wasn't sure if Nott was blatantly spying for Voldemort or nursing a secret crush – and he couldn't decide which was more disturbing.
Suffice to say, Corner and Nott threatened to ruin his enthusiasm for the classes. Threatened; not succeeded. The majority of his classmates were friendly toward him, and of course his two best friends were at his side. It also didn't hurt that he was genuinely good at the subjects now that he was applying himself. He'd even earned points in both classes already – in Transfiguration for being able to explain why food can be changed but not conjured and in Charms for being the only one to create a perfect Anti-gravity Mist, which an unfortunate Ernie Macmillian backed into.
Wednesday found Harry and Hermione heading to the dungeons for the first Potions class of the year, and Harry was decidedly uncomfortable about it. On one hand, he was still a Head's Candidate, so he knew he was off-limits as far as Snape's condescending remarks and vicious rebukes were concerned. But on the other hand, the man had given a point to Gryffindor!
Giving points to anyone that wasn't a Slytherin was rare enough; but to a Gryffindor, and a Potter to boot? It had left Harry decidedly unsettled. So much so that he'd mentioned it to Albus, who had merely laughed it off. "The inner working of Severus' mind are a mystery I fear even I cannot solve," he'd explained; although the twinkling in the old man's eyes made Harry doubt this assertion.
Also of concern was Snape's troubles from the day before, which were certain to have put him in a foul mood. Not a single First Year, not even his precious Slytherins, had seen fit to attend his class, leaving him with back-to-back empty lessons. It wasn't until he'd cornered several First Years in the Slytherin common room that he'd discovered the truth. The students had tried to attend class, but when they'd headed into the dungeons they'd found his corridor roped off with a large sign proclaiming "Forbidden Corridor". Well, after the Deputy Headmistress' clear statement that something with 'forbidden' right in its name was obviously forbidden, they'd felt they had no choice but to turn back around. After spending almost an hour trying to find another entrance, they'd given up and headed to their next class.
So there Harry was, walking into the man's lair, worried about what awaited him. And in the end, it was rather a letdown. Snape swooped into the room, barked for quiet, and babbled on about the delicate nature of some potion the way most men described their lovers. The class handed in their summer work, took their notes, and prepared their draughts in relative silence. Snape prowled around the work tables, dissecting everyone's work when he could, and remaining silent when he couldn't. And true to form, he completely ignored Harry's existence.
But that was fine with Harry. He was again using his beat up copy of the textbook – following the hand-written instructions where they differed from the printed instructions but ignoring any more spells he found. It also helped that there was no annoying Malfoy in the class; no unknown objects being lobbed into his cauldron and no revolting arse-kissing for all the class to hear.
At the end of the period he was able to turn in what he believed was a flawlessly brewed Draught of Silence, setting it on Snape's desk next to several other pearly golden concoctions. But stranger than the whole class brewing perfectly was the fact that Snape had not taken a single point all period – not from anyone. Not even when Terry Boot splashed his finished draught on Ernie Macmillian, causing the Hufflepuff to lose his voice for the rest of the day. Of course, knowing Snape's opinion of Macmillian, perhaps it was more of a surprise that points hadn't been awarded to Boot.
Harry followed up his first potions lesson of the year with his only Arithmancy lesson of the week. Arriving right on time, he was pleased to see Hannah Abbott also continuing the class. The two had had a lot of fun working together last year. Granted, it was one of his toughest subjects, since they were cramming 1 ½ years worth of lessons into each year, but he didn't mind. It really was as fascinating as Hermione had always made it sound, and since it was her favorite class she was always extra-eager to help.
But finally, the trio joined the other Defense NEWT students outside the classroom waiting for their first lesson with the new Professor Lupin. Right on time, the door began to open – only to hit Tonks' foot and slam back shut. This was immediately followed by a muffled curse that students normally didn't hear from their Professors. When the door opened a second time, Harry noticed that she was standing well off to the side with no chance of a repeat.
Tonks appeared just as she had opening night, as a younger version of her mother (and Aunt Bella, although Harry was getting very good at ignoring that little fact). Her appearance shouldn't have surprised him; she'd 'worn' the same look every day at every meal as well. He had finally decided that she must be keeping her morphing abilities a secret, an opinion Hermione wholly agreed with when he'd voiced it, but in such a way that he knew she was really saying 'well, obviously'.
"Welcome all … come in, come in," Tonks encouraged until everyone had found a seat. "I'm Professor Lupin, as you should all know." Six hands immediately shot into the air. "And no, I am not your first Professor Lupin's sister." Four hands went down. "Nor his sister-in-law." Another hand went down. "Nor am I he in drag," she huffed, and the final hand dropped. "I am his wife. And now that we have that all cleared up, let's get down to business. I am a fully trained Auror, on active duty for the last two years before I was asked to come here and teach you lot. I will prepare you for what is ahead, of that you can be sure," she asserted. Most in the class probably thought she was referring to their NEWTs, but Harry rather suspected she meant the inevitable battle.
After a quick review of last year's progress she had them put their books away and stand on their desks. Yes, on their desks. Their first lesson was to learn to defend themselves while moving, thus, the on their desk part. Each student was to try to disarm the Professor while they were jumping off their desk - something they only got one shot at accomplishing, since jumping took all of three seconds. Any student who managed to successfully catch her wand was excused from that night's homework assignment.
Few were surprised that Harry had Tonks' wand on his first try. Hermione had come close in her two tries, but each time she hesitated before she lept, giving Tonks time to shield herself. "You're hesitating a smidge," Tonks corrected her, "you're thinking too long before you make your move. If I was a Death Eater, you'd already be dead."
Ron managed to disarm Tonks mid-jump, but couldn't catch her wand. As the essay assignment was handed out, he tried to argue that he should only have to do half the essay, since he'd achieved half his goal. He was rewarded with a second essay on classroom etiquette for his efforts, and was grumbling under his breath as he left the room. Harry caught Tonks' eye and gestured toward his grumpy friend while winking, earning him a great smile.
Over dinner that evening, Ron started in on the unfairness of his essay.
"Well, really, Ron," Hermione said in full-on lecture mode, "you were rather disrespectful. I mean, you would never have spoken to Professor McGonagall in such a familiar manner."
"But … it's Tonks," Ron reasoned. "I mean, I've seen the woman wearing a pig's snout for a nose. I've heard her and Lupin going at it – it's really not fair that my room was just below theirs – and you expect me to just pretend we don't know each other? That's like asking Fred and George to leave Percy alone, that is."
"Ron!" Hermione admonished, in the loudest whisper Harry had ever heard. "You did not just comment on our Professor's sex life, did you?"
"Yeah mate," Harry cut in, finally joining in the discussion, "remember how that topic worked out for you last time?"
Unfortunately, Seamus had heard this last bit and he was quick to ask. "What's this about Professors and their sex lives? Know something you want to share with the rest of us, Weasley? It's not that old rumor about Dumbledore and McGonagall is it, 'cause unless you have something new to add, that's just old news."
Harry couldn't help his blush, and had to duck his head even as he wondered how the other boy had known just what Harry had been referring to, at least indirectly.
Ron took a second to contemplate both Seamus' question, and Harry's response, and decided revenge was in order. "Well … and this is second-hand mind you … but I have it on good authority that the Headmaster once had to have a certain talk – you know the one I mean – with a certain student," and here he shifted his eyes briefly to his blushing friend in an obvious manner before turning back to Seamus, "who didn't have a father to give it to him. From what I understand, it was quite awkward for H—er, the boy."
By now, Harry had figured out what Ron was about, but there was nothing he could do. If he silenced his loud-mouthed, no-longer-best friend, the others would take it as proof that what Ron was saying was both about him and true. But if he let him continue, there was no telling the damage that could be done.
In a falsely hushed voice, Ron shamelessly continued, "Rumor has it the old man had to explain the proper time and place to wank to the poor schlump."
Harry had his wand in hand and had just decided on the perfect curse, when Ron suddenly shrieked and jumped from his seat. Standing in the aisle, he did a strange little jig that involved hopping from one foot to the other while flapping and patting his robes and letting out little high-pitched shrieks and several choice curse words, earning the attention of the entire hall in the process. Only those close by could hear him mumbling about spiders as he began to twirl around in an attempt to see his own backside. Harry looked to Ginny, but for once the innocent look on her face seemed genuine.
Beside her, however, Hermione was enjoying the show entirely too much. Catching Harry's eye, she asked, "What? I warned him not to discuss the Headmaster like that."
Ron finished his private dance by backing into a hard body, and turned to find Professor Snape standing behind him, arms crossed and snare in place. "So lovely of you to provide the evening's entertainment, Weasley. Perhaps you would be so kind as to follow me to the trophy room, where I am certain we can put that excess energy to a far better use."
Six years had taught Ron not to argue back in such a public forum, and with a longing look at his forgotten pudding he meekly followed his professor out of the hall.
"Hermione," Harry said, in a manner that was somewhere between an accusation and a plea.
"Don't look at me like that, Harry. He brought it on himself. Or did you want me to let him continue his rumor-mongering with the boys?"
"No … no, I didn't want that. But, detention with Snape?"
"Well, I certainly didn't plan for that to happen. But … I'm sure there have been times when a detention was probably deserved, but he didn't get one. So we'll just call this poetic justice."
"In other words," Ginny was kind enough to explain, "he really shouldn't have been talking out of turn like that, the git."
Nearby, light snickering could be heard, leading Harry to believe that Neville had followed the entire exchange. Thankfully, Seamus and his lot had tuned out around the time Snape had appeared. Waiting for Hermione to divert her attention, Harry lobbed a roll at the laughing boy, landing perfectly in his gravy with a satisfying splash.
"Hey," Neville cried, "I wanted him to stop as much as you did. Or did you forget that you're not the only one that didn't have a father to give you The Talk? Those idiots might have thought he was talking about me."
Harry could appreciate the sentiment, but somehow he doubted anyone had thought Neville was the subject. And sure enough, by the time he'd arrived in the common room, he was already noticing strange looks and hushed conversations as he walked by. The activity – which Harry was sadly used to by now – carried on the rest of the evening, to the point where Harry finally slammed his book shut, wished the girls a terse goodnight, and stalked up the stairs.
It wasn't until he was ready to climb into bed that Dean finally broke the silence. "So, Harry … we hear you were having a hard time handling things and the Headmaster had to sort you out."
Whoosh. The pillow slammed into Dean with lightening speed, knocking the smirk right off his face. But that's when the out-right laughter started.
By dinner time Friday, Harry was certain he'd heard the phrase "hands on training" more times in that one day than Snape had said "arrogant like your father" in the previous six years. Then there were the many variations to the "Headmaster's favorite" theme, and how could he miss the "Head Boy" references? His favorite by far (not that he'd admit he'd found any of them amusing) was Terry Boot's surprisingly original "did he explain all about how it dies and then comes back to life?", which was actually kinda funny – if it was being said about anyone else, that is. The only thing that had kept the Ravenclaw from being hexed to bits was his insistence that he'd been talking about the Headmaster's phoenix.
Deciding to skip the Great Hall, or more accurately, the student body therein, he headed up to the private rooms to dine with Albus. He breezed into the Headmaster's office on his way to their sitting room when a noise to his side stopped him in his tracks. Turning, he found his guardian – the same one that was supposed to be on bed rest for another two days – standing behind his desk, sorting through a stack of correspondence.
"Ahem," Harry loudly cleared his throat.
"Ah, Harry. Is dinner over already?"
"No, everyone else is still eating in the Great Hall. But I thought I'd keep you company for the night. Only what do I find? You're supposed to be resting."
"And rest I shall," he assured the boy with a wave of his hand, even as he continued to sort the letters. "After dinner. But Minerva has been spending her every free moment in here, keeping me from getting any work done. And when she's in class, she has house elves reporting to her if I step a single foot into my own office." He finally turned his attention away from the letters and fully to Harry, continuing with an open smile. "But alas … they have to return to the kitchens for meals … and she has to take my place at the Head table … and poor me is left all alone, with nothing to entertain myself for a full hour. After twiddling my thumbs for a good five minutes, I decided my time could be put to better use here."
Harry couldn't fault the logic, and was rather impressed with Minerva's dedication to the cause. But the man needed his rest. "You're supposed to be resting," he repeated, as if he thought saying it again would make the man listen. It was funny, really, how much raising a guardian was like raising a small child.
"And you're supposed to be in the Great Hall," Albus counter, peering over his glasses, "not hiding up here so as not to hear any more innuendo regarding your sexual education."
"Fine then," Harry wisely decided, "you can stay. But would you at least sit down so Minerva doesn't get too mad at me?"
An hour later, said Deputy-Headmistress returned to the office to find the two seated together at a table near the fireplace, sharing a rather large serving of Custard Tart and laughing over Fawkes, who appeared to be trying to gain the attention of a certain beautiful female owl, who in turn was pointedly looking away from her feathered friend.
"Why am I not surprised to find that neither of you can follow even the simplest of rules?" she asked, not even bothering to wait for an answer as she moved around the duo so that she was behind Harry. "You," she said, leveling her gaze down on Albus, "are supposed to be in bed recuperating … and you," she continued, turning the sternest glare at Harry, "are supposed to be in the Great Hall with your friends dodging all those private tutoring offers you've been receiving."
'She did not just go there.' Harry turned to gawk at his teacher, thinking that now would be an excellent time to find out how it felt to be petrified.
"I am surprised Miss Weasley has been able to refrain from hexing any of those girls for this long," Minerva smoothly continued. "I may have to award her points for showing remarkable self control."
A house-elf popped into the room to clear away the dirty dinner dishes, effectively ending the teasing and earning itself a personal thank you from the great Harry Potter. The elf bowed deeply, and continued to do so as he backed away from the group, before popping away.
Now that the tabletop was cleared of dishes, Minerva politely leaned over Harry's shoulder to see what Albus had been working on. She shifted several pages around, 'tsking' at some as she shot dirty looks in Albus' direction. "Helping the Minister draft proposed laws is not taking it easy, Albus. You are supposed to be resting body, magic, and mind."
She continued to look over the papers, and although Albus tried his best to make excuses, Harry could tell he was only digging the proverbial hole deeper. Not wanting to be caught in the middle, Harry slowly and cautiously moved his chair back until he was well clear of the adults. Hedwig, who'd turn cold toward Fawkes for some undiscovered reason, flew over and rested on his knee.
A loud knock on the partially-opened door was their only warning before another Professor invaded the office.
"Headmaster, I must speak to you concerning Minerv–ahh," said Sybil Trelawney, coming to a quick halt before back treading, though luckily the office door behind her kept her from falling over. "Oh …Minerva, I was under the impression that you had a detention to supervise."
"Filius was kind enough to take the detention so I would be free to catch up on some paperwork," Minerva replied coolly, "but surely you expected to see me here?"
Trelawney nervously pulled her shawl tighter to her body as she straightened up and shuffled her feet. She didn't move any closer – Harry was sure she was as intimated by McGonagall as any First Year. "The Inner Eye," she moaned out, in the voice Harry was familiar with from class, "is not to be used for such mundane tasks. There are more important happenings that demand my attention."
"Yes, I can see how your pronouncement that the kitchen must serve chicken on Sunday was earth shattering," Minerva reasoned.
Harry laughed at Minerva's little joke, unknowingly bringing himself to Sybil's attention. "Ah … Mister Potter … I am not surprised to see you already in the Headmaster's office. Such trouble that finds you ... circling you like vultures circle a dead carcass on a lonely stretch of road. How you find the strength to continue on year after year after year is beyond me. I have seen much of your woefully short life in my gazing. Death … disease … danger … destruction …"
"Perhaps you should turn your dictionary to a new page, Sybil. I am sure you could find some wonderful nouns that start with the letter E."
"Now Minerva," Albus gently chided, "we must maintain professional etiquette in front of the impressionable student."
Harry was certain that Minerva's response would have been one to remember, but she never got a chance to speak, for a deep, throaty voice sliced through the room. Knowing what he would see – dread already turning his blood to ice – he nonetheless turned to look at his ex-Divination professor, who was standing stiff and staring straight ahead, a vacant look on her face.
"It will be done before the New Year ends. The Light One will find what he has lost, and the Dark Lord will be destroaaah—"
The scream ended with a groan as Trelawney landed face-first on the floor. The office door which she had been standing in front of had been flung open, pushing the witch to the ground. Seeing the woman on the floor, a professor Harry only recognized from mealtimes came to an abrupt stop.
"Oh my, so sorry Sybil, but perhaps you shouldn't stand in front of the door. Minerva, you're needed right away. There's an outbreak of Scrofungulus in the Hufflepuff dormitories. Poppy wants to quarantine them in the dormitory – says there's too many for the hospital wing – and Pomona has her hands full dealing with cranky First Years. They need help sorting out where to put the healthy students."
"Tell Pomona I'll be there right away, Charity, and if you wouldn't mind could you help her calm the young ones? I trust you've had the anti-potent?"
"Oh yes … I'll see what I can do." And with the briefest nod to Albus, the woman Harry now recognized as the Muggle Studies teacher left the room, pulling the door shut behind her.
"Oh dear," fretted Trelawney. "When my tea leaves warned that I should remain in my tower all weekend, I should have realized the danger. It is fortunate that I keep, ah, medicinal potions in my study. If you will excuse me … Minerva, Albus … I shall remove myself to the safety of my tower." She made a hasty retreat, obviously concerned about contracting the horrible disease and wanting to get to those medicinal potions, and totally forgetting the complaint she had wanted to file.
Minerva watched the Divination teacher leave, a look of disbelief clear on her face. "Honestly Albus! It's bad enough when she sees death omens every time someone spills gravy on the tablecloth, or claims she missed the staff meeting because voices warned of serious injury if she went. But to make up a prophecy to scare a student is simply unconscionable."
"My dear Minerva," Albus began calmly, "did it ever occur to you that perhaps, in this particular instance, the prophecy is real?"
"No," she said, snorting. "I'd more likely believe that Severus awarded house points to Harry."
"Then perhaps you'd best sit down," Albus gently cautioned, "For Severus awarded Harry a single house point the evening of the Welcoming Feast, and … unless I have completely misread the situation – and I highly doubt I have – we have just had the honor of hearing dear Sybil's third true prophecy."
Seeing the disbelief on her face, Harry hastened to add, "It's true, Professor. She made one back in my Third Year, about Pettigrew returning to his Master and helping him rise again. And that very night, I found out the real story of my parent's betrayal … and Pettigrew escaped and helped Voldemort get a new body, just like she'd predicted."
She blinked twice, looking between the two. It as obvious she still didn't believe, but she knew that for some reason, they did. "Very well, Harry … it seems all you have to do is find something you lost." She took a quick look around the room, her eyes finally resting on a small ball wrapped in dirty paper setting on the corner of nearest table. "How about that Dungbomb? Did you by chance lose it? Or … I think I have a Gryffindor scarf that was left in my classroom. Did you lose that? Perhaps we should just show you to the Lost and Found and be done with it. Why, this whole war could be settled by bed time."
"Minerva," Albus interrupted. "I believe you are needed elsewhere," he kindly reminded her.
"Of course," she agreed, moving toward the door. "I expect to find that paperwork just as unfinished when I return as it is now, Albus."
When the door was safely shut behind her, Albus shifted in his seat to face Harry. "Minerva's kidding aside, I do believe we should discuss this latest prophecy."
"Yeah, the blo—ooming dingbat! Why do all her prophecies involve me in some way or another? I don't know how many more I can take. Please," he suddenly begged, "can't we have her vocal cords removed, like Muggles do with dogs that bark too much. If she can't talk, she can't mess with my life, right?"
"An interesting suggestion, Harry, but something I suspect she would not consent to undergo. But I do not believe that this prophecy is one to fear. Quite the opposite … it appears to be in our favor."
Moving to the cabinet behind his desk, he removed his pensieve and placed his memory of the prophecy in it. With his wand, he replayed the words several times, until he had it memorized. Sitting back in his chair, he stroked his beard as he contemplated their meaning.
"Yes, good fortune indeed," he murmured, mostly to himself. Louder, he asked, "Did you hear how it began, Harry? 'It will be done before the new year ends.' Not the calendar year, I shouldn't think, for we are no where near January first. Yet the prophecy being spoken now indicates that the new year is either just around the corner or has just begun. And so it has … a new school year … yes, that fits quite nicely."
Harry sat up in his seat, stroking Hedwig's feathers absently, quietly allowing Albus to work out the puzzle.
"The Light One … an obvious reference to you – I think even Peeves could figure that one out. An interesting title you've been given; light being the opposite of dark, just as you are Voldemort's opposite. Yes … it appears you are once again the object of Sybil's affection, just as you so elegantly pointed out." Chuckling at his own joke, he leaned more comfortably in his chair as he thought some more. "The remainder does seem rather clear cut. For all her sarcasm, Minerva actually had the right of it. You find something you lost, and somehow, that leads to Voldemort's destruction. Oh, if only it were that simple."
"It sounds too easy," Harry offered. "I wonder what else she'd have said if she hadn't been interrupted."
"That is the crux of the matter, Harry. Remember the damage done by Voldemort when he acted without knowing the full contents of the first prophecy? Although, I suppose it is possible that there is no more … that Sybil was speaking the last word."
"Nah, her other prophecies end with a little recap of sorts. You know … born as the seventh month dies," he intoned, in his spookiest voice. "She likes to repeat herself. There should have been at least one more line, I think."
"Right you are, right you are. For all we know, there was a limiter or disclaimer that was lost." But then Albus grew quiet; if he had any ideas, he was keeping them to himself.
"So," Harry started, breaking the silence, "what do we do?" His voice startled Hedwig, who's dozed off under his gentle massaging. With a soft hoot, she spread her wings and flew out the window.
"Do? Harry, I don't think we do anything. At least, not anything in answer to this. We must learn from Voldemort's mistake – unless you are interested in wandering the earth as a bodiless spirit for eleven years?"
"Ah, no. I think I can live without that. But … do you suppose there's one of those little glass balls in the Department of Mysteries? Maybe we could go retrieve it and find out what's missing."
"An excellent thought; but no. I believe that any recording is going to contain the prophecy exactly as it was given. If Professor Trelawny didn't speak it, it would not be recorded."
"Well," Harry tried to reason, "if it wasn't spoken, and it wasn't recorded, then logically … it isn't part of the prophecy, and we don't have to worry about it."
"Miss Granger would be quite impressed with your deductive reasoning, and from what I gather given her opinion of Divination, quite likely to agree with it. But I am of the opinion that such an assumption would be unwise. And I like to think that my opinion carries just a wee bit more weight than hers."
"Fine, fine, we don't do anything," Harry reluctantly agreed.
"Well, mayhaps I misspoke. We don't actively do anything, certainly. No treasure hunts at Privet Drive, for instance. But we do keep our eyes and ears open, and we do pay attention. And if you do indeed find something you thought lost, we shall examine it for any possible connection to defeating Voldemort."
"So if I lose my toothbrush, and then it shows up under the sink … that's going to tell us how to defeat Voldemort?" Harry asked in a tone that told how little he believed such a scenario.
"Who knows," Albus countered. "Perhaps Tom has a hereto unknown fear of dental care."
Harry would have had a smart response, but he could see that Albus – for all he claimed he was fine – had been slouching further and further into his chair as they spoke. And now that he looked more closely, he could see Albus fighting to keep his eyes from drooping shut. He stood from his seat and moved over to stand next to Albus' chair. Gently pulling on his arm, he coaxed, "come on then, before you fall asleep where you sit and the Professor has us both in detention for a week."
Much to his surprise, instead of fighting the action, Albus rose from his seat. "Too right you are," he agreed. "I suppose my paperwork can wait until Minerva is at breakfast." Walking together, with Albus pretending he wasn't leaning on Harry, and Harry pretending he wasn't supporting Albus, they made it to the private sitting-room-turned-sick-room. Albus seated himself on to the bed, and Harry helped him remove his bunny slippers so he could get under the covers.
Taking a seat on the edge of the bed, Harry stayed a bit longer, and the two discussed nothing more serious than tomorrow's breakfast menu. When Albus' eyes drifted shut, and this time stayed that way, Harry gently rose and took his leave. Passing through the Head's office, he found Minerva perched behind Albus' desk, writing furiously. With a quick goodnight to her, he returned to Gryffindor tower where he gleefully learned that fourteen year old Jimmy Peakes had been caught alone in a broom cupboard by Flich, effectively moving the ridicule target from Harry to him. Remembering that awkward age, and knowing how it felt to be the House's whipping boy, Harry caught his eye and asked, "Did you forget to invite your date?"
He was, after all, still a teenage boy.
By the end of the week, Harry was exhausted. Sure, classes were keeping him busy, but he was also dealing with a recuperating guardian and his own feelings of guilt and inadequacy regarding Albus' injuries. He hadn't explained how he felt to his friends, but they knew. They made it their personal mission to spend the weekend together, either working on homework, talking Quidditch strategy, or just hanging out. At some point he'd let something slip, and he'd been compelled to share the new prophecy with them. (Hermione, he often thought, could guilt a Slytherin into confessing.) They'd talked the blasted thing to death before finally coming to the same conclusion Albus had – that it was best left alone.
Albus' bed rest had been extended another week, as Madam Pomfrey felt he just wasn't bouncing back as quickly as he should. Of course, she probably believed he was resting, instead of sneaking into his office at every available moment. Or maybe she did know that … because someone charmed his slippers so they couldn't enter the office. And try as he might, he'd been unable to remove the spell.
Harry suspected that the charm wasn't really on the slippers, but was on the rug right in front of the door. Stepping on the rug could trigger a reaction on the slippers which was awfully close to a charm Professor Flitwick had mentioned in passing. And the fact that Albus hadn't come to this conclusion on his own was evidence, in Harry's opinion, that he wasn't back to top form. He reasoned that when Albus finally figured it out, he was ready to go back to work.
Climbing into his bed Sunday night, Harry hoped this crazy week hadn't been an indication of how the entire school year would go. He hoped; but somehow, he didn't believe.
** end chapter **
Notes: The chapter title was meant to refer to Trelawney's third prophecy. But if you've been reading my profile page, you know that I ended up writing parts of this chapter 3 times – making the title prophetic. Note to self – do not use 'eight is enough' as a chapter title.
My sister once had a friend who swore her cat and her rabbit were getting funky together, and thus the Cabbit was born. Only Luna can explain the significance of the bushy tail.